Let me start off by saying that
if there ever was a singing voice that I wanted to physically
ravish, it would be Sarah Brightman's heavenly soprano. Without
a doubt. If you'd ever listened to her perform or feel
her lyrics melt your ears you would know exactly what I'm talking
about. Not to get too personal but a few of her more dreamy songs
can usually bring me right to the edge of, um, auditory satisfaction
by themselves (this is just a note to all you Rossman honnies
out there who wanted to know what you can do to kick me into
4th gear from a full and total stop) Once in a Lifetime
and Who Wants to Live Forever work best, but I digress.

Why do I bring this up? You see, on October 6th, 2000 my friend
Karen and I had the opportunity and experience of a lifetime.
We went to the Angel of Music's (from now on referred to as the
"AoM") live show of her pimping her new album and got
to meet the petite pretty one after much running and hiding from
large security men with guns and a small Dieter-looking limey
with a very loud mouth. But I'll get to that in a bit. It wasn't
the first time I'd seen the AoM live. Done that a few times actually.
But it was the concert that I came closest to getting
arrested at.

We began our journey into darkness by driving to the Atlanta
Civic Center and flashing our tickets to the man (Karen swears
it was a woman) at the door. We then proceeded directly to the
bar. First things first you know. After an few overpriced import
bottles for me and a Coke for Kare (she didn't even try to put
anything from a hidden flask into it, I was soooo disappointed
in her -_-) we mingled with the crowd for a bit and made fun
of everyone's total unappreciation and lack of knowledge of the
mortal goddess that they had all come to pay homage to that evening.
They knew nothing of her history or merits! They may as well
have been there to watch a trained (or even untrained) monkey
run up and down the stage flinging his banana-filled feces into
their faces for 2 hours!!! Those heathens!!!

You'll have to forgive us here.
You see, both Karen and I forgot to bring a camera to the show,
so all the images you see here on this page are borrowed from
other trips and vacations that I took sometime in the past. So
instead of looking to the left here and seeing REO Speedwagon
at the Universal Amphitheater, pretend it's Sarah onstage with
her keyboardist, bass guitarist and drummer pleasing Atlanta.

Whoa! Karen here. I'll try to fill in
the gaps of the story for the Rossman when he starts to seeth
with anger or when her falls into his "Brightman Trance"
and begins staring intently at the wall with a giddy smile on
his face as if he were listening to some faraway Sarah Symphony
that nobody else can hear They both happen more frequently
than I'd like to admit and they're both scary as hell to actually
witness. Anyway, we got there, the Rossman put a few people in
their places by churning out Brightman trivia and factoids like
a freaky automaton, he got tipsy, and then the lights dimmed
so we took to our seats. Well to the seats that should have been
ours. It took us and the elderly seat-finder-helper lady 4 minutes
to convince the obnoxious and large couple that their rumps were
in fact in our cushy chairs. Well, we didn't really convince
them per say, but the Rossman got them to vacate the premises
by imitating Dr. Jones in the Last Crusade by throwing them off
the balcony and while dusting his hands off explaining to the
rest of the theater goers "No ticket" pretty matter
of factly.

After that we settled in for the concert
of a lifetime. I had never heard Sarah live before (and had only
been force fed all of her albums by an anxious Rossman over the
course of the past three weeks as preparation). I probably would
have enjoyed the symphonic show a bit more if my companion didn't
feel the need to lip-synch along to all of the numbers being
performed. Sure he wasn't making any sound (God forbid!), but
I kept having Milli Vanilli flashbacks and I just had to get
him to stop. You see, I did smuggle some Jack Daniels into the
concert hall for just such an occasion. I'm happy to say that
it shut him up quick-like.

First of all, I wasn't that bad. I stopped waving my arms
around like a conductor after the first ten minutes on my own.
I felt that the 20+ piece orchestra had it down pat by that point.
And everybody around us thought that my silent singing was very
well mimed too. Kare's just jealous that she didn't know the
lyrics (even to the songs in English) enough to belt one out
herself.
But enough about me, back to the show. The AoM pulled out all
of the stops. She flew around on the stage again, she had lots
of lithe dancing chicks prancing around, she had close to a 20
member chorus join her on a few songs and she had three (count
'em, three!) encores. I almost creamed my jeans when she did
Question of Honour (British spelling cause she's a Brit).
It's just one of her ass-kicking-est best! I was in heaven.

After
the show was over everybody in the audience rushed the stage
and tore the uprights down. Then they set fire to the curtains
and started chanting "We're number one! We're number one!!"

Actually
it was Sarah herself that started the fire. In her final encore
she screamed out "Good night Cincinnati!" and then
set her brassiere ablaze. What a way to end the show!

After the lights eventually came back
on the Rossman just stood still as a statue in his place holding
his hands to his heart while grinning like an idiot (that he
has a tendency to be sometimes) and "sighing" like
a wounded seal in heat. I couldn't move him an inch. I had to
go out into the lobby and buy another Heineken to use like a
worm on a hook to drag him out of his trance and into the parking
lot. But to my distress cars were already in total gridlock trying
to force their way out of the single entrance to freedom. We
were stuck for a while, so we just headed back in to the now
empty Civic Center and found some company with the cool limey
audio and light guys. They told us some pretty funny Frenchie
jokes and I had the Rossman tell them some clown jokes and the
ChiChi joke while they passed around a bottle of some very expensive
Champaign. Soon though, we noticed a mini tour going around the
theater being led by some mid-twenties unbathed loser who kept
insisting to everyone he was guiding that the whole show was
"Sarah's and his" doing. They must have been family
cause they bought every line. My favorite was when he insisted
to Sarah that she sing a bit from Phantom of the Opera
(fyi, the Rossman insists on having me tell you that the role
of Christine was written for her and her alone end footnote).
"Sarah, I said, the audience would just LOVE it if you covered
something from your past like that. She took it into consideration,
and if you didn't notice used my advice and it was so perfect
I might add!" to quote the odd tour guide.

That dude was freaky. Even after half the bottle of bubbly
I knew he was a tool. And you've got to be quite a tool for me
to see through my liquor goggles and still perceive your toolness.
But the limey audio and visual guys were making fun of him with
us and set us straight as to how the whole show is thought up
and how every act and song is implemented on stage. Then they
brought out the doughnuts and let us have one (well, Karen chose
not to seeing as there were no jellies) as they praised American
cuisine. I still don't know if they were being sarcastic or not,
but they did love those Krispy Kremes.

It was about "doughnut" time that we noticed that
the mini-lame-tour was heading backstage. So without missing
a beat (musical pun intended) Kare and I slowly got up and followed
them. We had to climb and negotiate our way around tons of large
guys with hammers and stuff who were taking the whole damn set
apart faster than I can get Karen trashed on a Friday night after
I insist that she looks sexier when her eyes don't focus. Then
we found ourselves in the holy land Backstage. Since nobody
had stopped us or questioned us yet about any sort of pass we
thought that we were safe. But just to play it safe I told Kare
to follow my lead and walk in a straight line with her eyes straight
ahead. I've learned long ago that the key to getting in to places
that you're not supposed to be in is to look like you're supposed
to be there. I also took off my shirt (relax ladies, I was wearing
a t-shirt) and tied it around my waste to look more like a roadie.
Then I got my strut going. After wandering around for about 5
minutes we finally found some signs pointing to "Dancers
>: Musicians >: and Sarah Brightman ^". It was about
to happen!

Here I am in my roadie disguise.
Now, if this had been an Ozzy or Helloween concert I might have
blended right in. But unfortunately backstage at the Brightman
show even the hourly help are dressed pretty classy. "Rock
and ROLL, Cleveland!"

Karen thought that this was a
bit into overkill, but quite honestly I felt pretty liberated
dressed like this. I think it was the Van Halen hat that did
it.